


He Did it!

by memeberd



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Aknowledgement of death and mortality, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 19:29:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memeberd/pseuds/memeberd
Summary: If you read Red Rackham's Treasure, you'll know where exactly these pieces of fiction will fit. And if you're me, you're wishing Haddock's drinking issues were taken a bit more seriously. Just alittlemore concern shown on Tintin's side would have been nice.Well anyway I wrote a little about Tintin being concerned.





	He Did it!

           Haddock was handed the letter, and he read it without a single change in expression until he reached the end. Then, he began wiping down his face. Haddock groaned in a state of aftershock the way one would if they had gambled the rest of their savings away.

           “ _Millions and billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles...”_

           Tintin of course, being a nosy young man with a decidedly growing attachment to the Captain, was more interested than he already was before the bearded sailor started tugging on his whiskers.

           “What’s the matter, Captain?” Tintin inquired, watching with his two wide and round mirrors of eyes that glinted with concern. “Is it that bad?”

           “Oh, it’s GHASTLY.” Haddock shouted in a hysterical voice, shielding the letter from his eyes. “It’s _reprehensible!”_

           Tintin’s usually inquisitive brows arched higher. The Captain inwardly supposed he shouldn’t keep the lad in the dark for much longer and glanced down at the paper in his hands once more.

           “Just read it yourself,” Haddock looked away as he handed the parchment to Tintin.

           Tintin was expecting to read something from the recently escaped criminal who wanted the riches they sought, or a letter that read about an important crew member having died and there was no replacement in sight for months, but it was neither. Somehow, it was worse. Tintin read it aloud.

           “From Doctor Alvin Leech. Dear Archibald Haddock, - Your name is _Archibald?”_ Haddock reeled a hand to usher Tintin to keep reading. “I have considered your case and concluded your illness is an effect of _poor_ _liver condition.”_ Tintin’s voice cracked as it traveled up an octave and he looked over to the Captain with look of remorse. “Oh, Captain,”

           “Oh no, not that,” Haddock said with a wave of dismissal to let Tintin know he could relax. But relax, Tintin didn’t. “I’ve had that for a while. Keep reading, the bad part’s coming up.”

           Feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut, he simply squinted his face and uttered “What…?” Tintin slowly turned his head back down to finish the letter. “You must therefore undergo a strict diet that excludes all alcoholic beverages including--" Tintin whipped his head back up to scrutinize the Captain. “ _That’s_ what you’re upset about?”

           “ _It’s a disaster_.” Haddock nearly wept. “I spent all this money on enough whiskey to last me the whole expedition, and I’m not supposed to drink _any_ of it!?” The Captain went from a range of emotions from grief, to enragement to finally hyper awareness of having made his renouncement of alcohol to the public and acting accordingly; he turned a florid shade and leaned in close to whisper into the journalist’s ear. “ _There’s no getting a refund for twelve blistering crates of whiskey, Tintin!”_

           Suddenly it was beginning to hit him that his friend was not going to be around as long as Tintin would be. If Haddock wasn’t willing to take care of himself like he needed to-- he’d _die sooner!_ Then what would Tintin do?

           “You’re going to stick to your diet, right?” Asked Tintin with a growing frown, causing Haddock to cross his arms.

           “If you think I’m giving up sweet, sweet whiskey, you’re out of your mind.” Scoffed Haddock.

           Tintin’s stomach jumped while the image of himself weeping over the Captain’s grave hung heavy over his head and shoulders. Every time he blinked he could see it; the sky was a bleak slate gray, the wind was unforgiving and whipped the collar of Tintin’s trenchcoat around so he had to fight to keep it still and wipe his tears at the same time. He was all alone with a single lilly, save for Snowy who sat beside him and scratched at a flea under his ear. ‘ _Here Lies Archibald Haddock,’_ would be what his tombstone said:

_‘Last of the Haddock Bloodline,_

_Brilliant Sea Captain, Friend of Tintin and Snowy_

_Drank Himself to Death.’_

           He could feel himself fighting against the muscle movement necessary to place the lily infront of the headstone, as if he could keep his friend alive just a little longer if he delayed the act. Somehow he could _feel_ the spot where the Captain should be _alive_ right next to him and it was unnaturally eating at him from where it stood.

           Then he remembered Haddock was still alive and they were in fact standing at the dock right next to the SIRIUS, the boat they were taking on their expedition.

           Tintin wanted to _atleast_ be in his forties when he had to weep over anyone’s grave.

           “Surely you’ll take a break?” Tintin asked with an attempt at a smile on his face.

           Haddock crouched a little and stuck his nose in Tintin’s face. “Look at this old face, Tintin.” Said Haddock in a voice of scratchy comfort. His bearded face had older age written all over it, the bags under his eyes were stuffed full and wrinkles touched every inch that stressed when he smiled or scowled. It always reminded Tintin of layers of rock worn down from the wind. “Whatever happens with my organs is bound to happen sooner or later.”

           “Then why not _later?”_ Asked Tintin. “What do you expect me to do if you,” he stopped himself before he could even directly mention the topic of death. Haddock rested a fist on his hip and swayed off to the side like he craved to be on the unsteady floor of the SIRIUS.

           “You should _really_ find yourself a nice _younger_ captain to go on adventures with.” Said Haddock jestingly.

           Tintin was not in a joking mood. He found himself balling his hands into fists and scowling at Haddock. “But I don’t _want_ another captain, _Captain!”_ He argued.

           A single Thompson cleared his throat. The two detectives were in fact close enough to Tintin and Haddock to overhear their conversation. The sailor and the journalist both went red in the face when they acknowledged the other two men and left the topic of Haddock’s drinking behind themselves for the time being.

 

* * *

 

           Aboard the SIRIUS, Tintin knocked on the Captain’s door before entering, and when he opened it he saw the older man sitting at the little table puffing on his pipe.

           “Hello Captain.”

           The Captain perked in his seat at the sound of Tintin’s voice.

           “Do you think you could teach me the basics in sailing?” Tintin asked drumming his fingers against the doorway.

           “You like to learn?” Said Haddock with a spark of joy in his milky blue eyes.

           “I would like to, very much.” Tintin let himself all the way in. “Considering where my job’s been taking me recently, I feel knowing enough in this area could prove to be useful.” Said Tintin. “It’d be an honor if you taught me what you know.”

           “Well, alright.” Haddock said glowingly, and with a wink he added, “I think you’ll pick up on it fast.”

           The Captain was right in his assumption, but Tintin humbly insisted it was because they were on an easy route.

           “Don’t sell yourself short, it’s usually this simple.” Haddock explained over Tintin’s shoulder. “All you need is your wits about you, and a general knowledge of regulations and such… then when you sail into a storm or something… well, you’ve flown through one before so we’ll let that speak for itself.”

           Haddock had to make sure he wasn’t leaning in too close to the lad as he spoke; the one doing the sailing always needed enough space to work. It was always hard for the poor Captain to keep his emotions and impulses from running his life, let alone forming an alliance against him. Something about getting this subtle reminder that the baby-faced young man beside him who was full of that bright eyed promise that he could do anything still had alot to learn. Tintin had done so much before now that his name was practically a title cast in gold and here _he_ was; some old drunkard getting to teach _Tintin_ the basics of sailing a boat.

           Maybe Haddock couldn’t help it if his chest was too swollen with pride, and maybe he couldn’t help it if he wanted to hug the little old man right there and sink them all.

           “Oh look! A fishing fleet!” Tintin said, plunging Haddock right back into the present. “We’re bearing down on them a little fast, what do we do?”

           “A blast on the siren should warn them.” Said Haddock without missing a beat. “They’ll get out of our way in time.”

           Tintin pulled down on the rope that hung above their heads, perhaps it was a little longer than necessary, but the Captain had no objections and it was fun! Hopefully he didn’t startle anyone outside the Captain’s quarters…

           “I think you can handle yourself just fine now.” Haddock said with satisfaction, proudly pocketing his hands. “I trust you enough that I could run off and take a bathroom break, just keep an eye on that fishing fleet, eh? I’ll be back.”

           “Aye aye, Captain.” Tintin saluted him, earning a playful mock-shove on his shoulder.

           The moment Haddock stepped out of the room, Tintin fist pumped.

           Tintin knew Haddock had stored a bottle of whiskey or more somewhere in this very room, and he was going to fish them all out and dispose of them before the Captain could further ruin his liver that day.

           Once the captain's quarters were emptied of all bottles of whiskey, Tintin was determined to further his plan to emptying as many of the crates filled with bottles as he could during the later hours on the SIRIUS.

           He could see the fleet picking up its pace to get out of the way of the SIRIUS, so he scrambled to work before Haddock could return. He rummaged in every corner of the room, knowing the older man had to have become a master at hiding his bottles.

           “ _Aha!”_ Cried Tintin as he pulled a bottle of whiskey out from behind a folded manual near the wheel. Everywhere else had been upturned and replaced back to the way it was; this appeared to be the only bottle in the room.

           “Almost in plain sight.” Tintin mouthed to himself. “Clever, Captain, this was the last place I looked…” He eyed it maliciously and darted out of the Captain’s quarters to the railing that bordered passengers and crewmen from being washed overboard. He overlooked the sea which appeared to be a deep slate blue before looking back to the bottle. “ _You,_ are poison.” Tintin said to the whiskey as if it could consciously hear him.

           “And _poison_ goes overboard!”

           Tintin tossed the bottle by its mouth as far as he could. It did somersaults in the air, shrinking in perspective until it plunged into the ocean. It was never to be seen or touched by Captain Haddock again.

           Tintin cheered in triumph with his fists above his head. “One less bottle, one less strain on the Captain’s liver!” He brushed his hands together as if to clap off a layer of dirt and headed back for the captain’s quarters with his heart ablaze.

           When Tintin entered, he found that the Captain had returned before he could. Tintin seized up in the doorway. The great marble statue of a man heard Tintin enter and looked over his shoulder to see the quiffed reporter standing there with his back glued to the reclosed door.

           At this moment, Tintin had no idea which way Haddock had come to return to the captain’s quarters, but he could just _see_ the Captain pettily passing by as quiet as possible while Tintin tossed his whiskey overboard, only to confront Tintin when he returned himself after feeling good and satisfied with his job.

           “Where’d you go?” Asked Haddock without a shadow of suspicion.

           Tintin was willing to assume Haddock really hadn’t seen him toss a bottle of his beloved vice into the ocean.

           “I’m sorry! I needed some fresh air,” Tintin lied, “I miscalculated how long I’d take, I’m really sorry Captain.”

           “We’ll forget it. No harm, no foul as I always say.” The Captain said calmly as he turned his eyes back to the sea. “You can jump back on the wheel if you like,” His eyes flitted back to Tintin for a moment, “I don’t think our lesson was over yet.”

           A broad smile fixed itself to Tintin’s face. “Oh, may I? Thank you!”

           Just to be sure of himself, after Haddock had disappeared another time to yell at his crewmen, Tintin did a second search. This time, Tintin checked to see if there were any floor compartments, and just as he suspected, there was an opening discovered under the first aid box where one more bottle of whiskey lay. This time, Tintin stuffed the bottle into the pocket of his trench coat for later disposal. He patted the pocket for good luck, and shortly after he went back to the wheel the door had opened for Haddock to return. He still suspected nothing.

           After saying their goodnights, Tintin stuffed his hand into the pocket where he stored the last whiskey bottle. _Still have it,_ he thought as he latched his fingers securely around its mouth. The wind pushed him along in the direction he desired to go like an approval from the Lord himself.

           Tintin didn’t get too far before he heard the Captain emerge from his quarters with a slam of the door and the grumbling of his voice. He had a good hunch about what was troubling the older man.

           “What’s the matter, Captain?” Tintin called out, masking the intense feelings of smugness and self satisfaction with an inflection of concern.

           “What’s the matter, he asks!” Haddock repeated with a roll of his eyes. “SOMEBODY’S STOLEN MY WHISKEY!”

           Tintin couldn’t help it, he cracked a smile. “Is that so? They must have been worried about your health! Maybe they thought it was important to keep you on your diet?”

           “THE SELF-RIGHTEOUS SEA MONKEY HAD NO RIGHT TO DO THAT!” Thundered Captain Haddock. “WHEN I FIND THAT CROOK I’LL GIVE HIM A PIECE OF MY MIND, THAT’S WHAT I’LL DO!”

           Tintin’s smile dropped.

           “... I’m dead tired. Good night!” Tintin stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his trench coat and leaned into the wind in order to get away faster.

           Haddock watched him leave, sinking his fingers into his beard to scratch his chin. “Hm.” Haddock grunted to himself and turned on his heel to the right and sidled off. “Welp, let’s jus' get another one from the hold…”

           Tintin couldn’t bring himself to toss that last bottle he took. He’d made it to an edge of the boat where the Captain wouldn’t see him which was a space infront of the kitchen. The label, Haddock's favorite brand, moped at him through the dim light of the kitchen. He sighed and stuffed it back into his pocket, staring out at the sea that was as black as the sky. His eyelids and heart felt too heavy to watch for long.

 

* * *

 

 

           Tintin kept his mind clear while he got ready for bed and managed to stay relaxed until he was under the covers in his pajamas. Staring up at the ceiling of the room and petting down Snowy’s back he said, “He thinks I’m a self-righteous sea monkey…”

           Tintin closed his eyes as his head turned to press his nose against the pillow. The label of the whiskey still in his coat was etched into his brain, and Haddock's rage dripped through his soul as if it were directed at Tintin.  

           “But it’s just not fair, why is that poison so important to him? I just don’t understand, Snowy. What drives a man like him to value whiskey over his own _life…?”_

           Snowy looked up at his master and snuffled as if to agree in sympathy.

           “You know what?”

           Snowy's ears perked, hoping they were going to go for a late walk around the ship.

           “If the Captain is going to be upset that I've helped him, then let him be upset. He'll feel better in the morning; after all, it's like ripping off an old bandaid isn't it?”

           Tintin smiled at this statement and ruffled his pup's scruffy ears.

           “That's all it is, I've torn off a metaphorical bandaid… well, two. Two out of many.”

           Still, whether Tintin was sure what he'd done was right or not didn’t change how upset the Captain was when he realized his whiskey was missing, and it did not change the fact that the Captain would be livid with Tintin if he knew _it was him._

           Tintin tossed in bed, wriggling extra to recover himself with the blanket that clung to his pajamas for warmth and hearing a complaint from Snowy over his disruptive movement.

           Tintin imagined that if Snowy could talk he’d be saying “ _I’m surprised in you, Tintin! Even I was sure you didn’t care what other people thought about you!”_

           “... Nobody was my friend until awhile ago.” Tintin said as if his explanation meant anything to his little dog who only truly understood a handful of words from the journalist's native tongue. His cheek burrowed into his pillow and he stared blankly at the wall. “Until awhile ago, I was sure nobody… liked, me…”

           Snowy didn't understand his master's words, but he understood that rare deflated tone of voice meant: _“Master sad.”_ His front paws dug at Tintin's frame hidden under the blanket as he slipped up, and farther up past Tintin's shoulders. Snowy's little wet nose soon sniffled affectionately in his master's ear, clipped claws scratching at his collarbone. Tintin chuckled and wrapped his arms around the pooch like a child would with their teddy bear.

           “Okay. Comfortable now, beastie?” Tintin cheekily asked, letting his fingers get lost in Snowy's fur.

           The sun hung halfway, like a low-hanging, luminescent peach in the powder blue sky when Tintin and Snowy were out and about. The journalist made sure that the first thing he did, trench coat with a heavy pocket hugged tight around himself, that he'd pay Haddock another visit.

           “I found one of your missing bottles of whiskey,” Tintin said, lightening his pocket, “whoever tried to hide them from you didn’t do a very good job.”

           Haddock gripped the bottle so tight the skin on his knuckles looked like polished rubber. “ _How_ did you know I was looking for _more than one_ bottle of whiskey?”

           Tintin nearly jumped out of his skin. He was _so_ startled, in fact, that he woke up, remembering he was in bed trying to go to sleep and the Captain didn’t suspect a thing of him. He winced his eyes shut.

           “ _Great snakes…”_ Tintin whispered in exasperation to himself.

**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!**

           Tintin whipped up to a sitting position in his bed with a hand on his chest as if he were having a dreadful nightmare.

           “ _TheCaptain’sfiguredmeout!”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> _And cue the bomb scare in the crate room._
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> Thanks for reading, I'd really appreciate kudos or some feedback if you liked it. I may or may not respond but that's not the important part.


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